Battle Royale: Game 117
by Galantria
Summary: American Battle Royale Version 117. Date: 6-15-97; Participants: 42; Ages: 14-15 grade 9 ; Deaths: 41; Reasons to Play: Innumerable
1. FOREWORD

Battle Royale: Game 117

Prologue

Harris Burdock and Mike Ballard stood by the entrance of the abandoned Car Factory in the outskirts of Chicago. The factory hadn't been touched in 20 plus years and the red brick walls were cracked and faded. Both teenagers wore battered jeans and wrinkled T-shirts.

"So, you up for it?" asked Harris as he ground his used cigarette into the pavement with the sole of his left tennis shoe.

"Hell yeah I am, but you can't blame me for being shaky. It was short notice."

"That's how it always is. If you think about it two hours isn't bad at all."

Mike laughed. "You know so much about this. You've died before?"

Harris smiled, pulling back his chapped lips to reveal straight white teeth. "You could say that."

"Meaning what?"

"This is my second try. I chickened a year ago."

"Really? No lie? But you seem so…" Mike paused to regard Harris's unnerving smile, "ready."

Harris laughed coldly. "I guess that's _because_ I chickened. I left my brothers, betrayed them really, and ended up alone with no one. Little Harris all alone in the big, big world or some shit."

"Yeah, I guess," said Mike who was becoming less and less comfortable.

"Don't listen to me anyway. My mind's made up. This is about you now. Are you going to follow me in there?"

Mike swallowed. Harris's sarcastic words _all alone in the big, big world _rang through his head. Harris was starting to scare him, but he was also his friend. Maybe even his only friend. Without him Mike would be truly _all alone_.

"Yeah. I'm coming."

**8-30-95**

**Official Textbook of Domestic Laws**

**38 teens ages 15-19 were found dead in an abandoned Chicago car factory on August 30****th ****1995. The group had gassed themselves to death in an air-tight storage garage. This event marks the largest suicide pact on USA soil. The individuals met on the web and under the guidance of Harris Burdock (17) successfully planed the mass suicide for 14 months. While little is known about Burdock, he had a mild criminal record (including breaking and entering and drug possession.) Journal entries and email of the suicide victims show that he approached them with the offer of the pact. Physiatrists analyzing his instant messenger conversations, emails, and poems written in a spiral bound notebook believe him to have been clinically insane. Because of his leadership role in the mass suicide he has been nicknamed "Cut-Throat Burdock" by the media and public. The event as a whole is named "The Chicago Suicide."**

**The US government had lost faith in the American youth. They were criminal, unappreciative, jaded, and as shown by The Chicago Suicide without the will to live. To re-instill positive qualities In the American youth, the US adopted the Battle Royale Act from The Republic of Greater East Asia. **

**New York Senator John Billman publicly described the act as "a positive step toward reeducating our nation's youth and thus preparing our nation for the future" during a press conference. **

**Simply put, Battle Royale is the mandatory fight to the death of at least one class each year. Only one student survives after the self-inflicted massacre that is Battle Royale**


	2. CONTESTANTS

Battle Royale: US Version 113

Chapter 1 -- Class Roster

Males:

Christian Bailey

Edmund Christianson

Max Graybill

Luke Golding

Parker Hanson

Ren Knight

Eli Kraston

Charlie Lawrence

Jaedon Marshal

Chris Mathews

Aspen Nelson

Eban Nix

Sam Nix

Lee Thompson

James Weber

Orson Wells

Thomas Whitney

John Wright

Renshu Zhu

Stephan Zuckerman

Females:

Katie Antrim

Demaras Arsega

Olivia Barton

Angela Davidson

Shylah Davies

Lucy Elliot

Chelsea Franklin

Samantha Garret

Victoria Gentry

Valerie Hart

Nathalie Hawes

Fae Hopper

Mauria Hutchinson

Amy Langdon

Rena Lucas

Lindsey Maxwell

Elaine McCarthy

Jennifer Nolan

Ashley Upson

Emma Voigt

Julieanne Walker


	3. GAME BRIEFING

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Fae Hopper (Girl No. 12) arrived early to the assembly. Only a few of her classmates were milling around the long tables facing the stage when she walked into the auditorium on May 23, 1999. Her dress shoes tapped metallically against the cheep hard wood and she regretted the school dress code – white dress shirts paired with kakis for the boys and plaid skirts for the girls – because of the late May heat. Fae could feel her shirt begin to stick to her, confirming that she was sweating lightly.

She looked around nervously. Fae was not well known, even in the small Kansas school, and she was painfully shy. Her mom was a known hypochondriac with suspicious "aches and pains" and after marrying the town doctor, had barely risen from bed. Since her mother was "unfit" to drive or leave the house, and Fae's father ran the hospital almost single handedly, no one had been around to drive her to the assembly. She had had to walk along the dusty road to the school in the premature spring heat. And (typically) she had left too early and would now have to sit alone awkwardly until one of her few friends arrived.

Fae sighed and pulled a chair out of an empty table. She sat down and pretended to examine her nails, letting her long pale hair fall like a veil around her face. Glancing sideways through her hair she saw Emma Voigt (Girl No. 20) and Rena Lucas (Girl No. 15) chatting in the corner. _Damn, just my luck. Why is she even here early? _Fae quickly looked down. If there was someone she was scared of it was Emma Voigt, the queen of Franklin High's 10th grade class.

Fae had known Emma since she was three. They had been friends of sorts until middle school, when Emma erased all history of thief friendship. While not the prettiest girl around, Emma was friends with all the right people and with enough of a vicious streak to be seen as unapproachable by the lower social levels. Basically, anyone who wasn't popular would do better to avoid her.

Rena was more of a black box to Fae. Rena was a pretty half Indian girl who had moved from New York a year ago. Her appearance and urban back around made her a worthy follower of Emma, but Fae knew next to nothing about her.

"Hey there Fae."

Surprised, Fae looked up. There stood Emma Voigt, in the flesh, brushing back her stick straight brown hair and smirking. To an observer this would sound innocent enough, but Fae knew Emma well enough to recognize her mocking tone.

"Hi," she answered. _That's it, keep it simple_ Fae told herself.

"Nice stain there." _Stain?_ Emma pointed a manicured fingernail at Fae's sleeve. At the shoulder a patch of brown dust marred Fae's white shirt. _Damn, Must have been the roads. Now I'll look like an idiot all the ceremony._

A blush crept up Fae's pale face and Emma's smirk broadened. Rena laughed from the brunette's side.

"Really I would think you would show more respect to the school, Fae. Maybe I should tell Mr. Frankl about this. Aw! Look, Rena! She's blushing. I haven't seen her so red since Luke asked her to borrow a pencil."

_Oh, God! She knew, Emma Voigt, knew about Luke! _After years of successfully keeping her crush secret, the bitchiest girl in school knew about Fae's crush on Luke Golding (Boy No. 4). Fae sputtered incoherently.

"Oh don't look so surprised. It's so obvious. I can't believe he hasn't picked up on it before…or maybe he has and is just being nice about it. I wouldn't be surprised. It's not like he likes you or anything." Emma's eyes were cold and Fae shrank back in her seat. "But of course I should probably make sure he knows."

Fae felt light headed. "No, don't. Please…"

"Hmm. Well I guess it-" Emma started but was cut off as a tan hand landed on her shoulder. She turned to face Shylah Davies (Girl No. 5) who literally towered over her.

"I don't know what's going on, but whatever you have in your twisted little Abercrombie mind, Emma, you had better forget it. Now."

Emma was surprised. She was short in stature, but one of the most intimidating students in Franklin High and wasn't used to being manhandled. But she was definitely scared of the tall and strong Shylah. "And if you don't, you'd better believe that I'll come for you."

"Sure, freak. Wouldn't want to mess with a freaking steroid using transvestite," Emma left with Rena trailing behind her.

Fae watched her retreat and slowly regained her color. "Thanks, Shylah. I-I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up just then."

Shylah smiled warmly. "Don't worry about it. But listen, girl, you've got to get some backbone. Don't let that bitch push you around."

"I know. I'm just not the brave type."

"Well right now you're more of the 'never-stands-up-for-myself type'. I don't want to be mean, but I worry about you, Fae." Shylah looked down at her small friend sadly.

"I'll try. But anyways do you know what this assembly is about anyway?"

"As if I listen to the announcements! Isn't that your thing?"

Fae smiled. "Yes, but they never said. Just something about a 'mandatory assembly.'"

"Well I guess we'll find out," Shylah said looking out at the room filling with their classmates.

They moved off to join Chelsea Franklin (Girl No. 7) and Lucy Elliot (Girl No. 6) who were beckoning from the table to their left.

Max Graybill (Boy No. 3) stood with his best friend Orson Wells (Boy No. 16) waiting for the assembly to begin. Max rubbed a hand through his rusty brown hair. He was bored and impatient for the assembly to begin. After all, it was taking up precious time from his Saturday. Which stupid teacher's idea had it been to have the assembly on the weekend anyway? Couldn't it have been in homeroom or even better during English class (Max's least favorite class)? Even worse, Max had a math competition on Sunday so today was his only day to play Halo with Orson.

Video games were more of Orson's thing and he would be defeated easily, but he loved spending time with his friend. Of course he would have to put up with his parents' objections that he should be prepping for the math contest, but they would soon give up as he almost always won without any preparation. Max was simply put a math prodigy. He was three years advanced in math and easily acing the course. This status made him a bit of a geek, but Orson never cared and it wasn't as if Max went out of his way to rub it in.

"Jesus, when's this damn thing starting?" Max asked as he glanced at his watch. It read 1:20. The assembly was already running five minutes late. _Typical public school incompetence,_ Max thought. _And it's not as it the math department's anything to boast about either. _

Orson laughed. "Calm down. Mr. Frankl will rant about moral codes for 30 minutes tops and then we're out of here."

"As if. That man can go on forever. Once he saw me drop a gum wrapper on the ground and I had to listen to him for a good 20 minutes."

"Litter bug!" Orson gasped in a mocking falsetto.

"Yep, I'm a bad, bad man," Max joked.

"Well I guess your math scores that raise us a good 20 percent on every standardized test make up for it."

"Attention ladies and gentlemen!" Mrs. Lancer, the aging receptionist stepped up on the stage.

"Finally," Max muttered.

"Please take a seat and give Mr. Frankl your undivided attention.

The auditorium immediately filled with the sound out 42 chairs scratching against wood. Max and Orson sat down by the Nix twins and Christian Bailey (Boy No. 1), Eli Kraston (Boy No. 7) and his girlfriend, Victoria Gentry (Girl No. 9). Max looked uncertainly at Victoria. He wasn't used to close company with girls, but Victoria seemed easy going and friendly enough. Victoria noticed his glance and smiled at him as Eli grasped her hand. Max returned the smile and turned to the stage.

Mr. Frankl, the grey-haired principal of Franklin High, took the stage. Max noticed that his expression looked strained. A bad year battling the teachers union? Just as the school's patriarch opened his mouth, the door of the auditorium opened and in stepped Aspen Nelson (Boy No. 11). Aspen's dark brown hair was ruffled and he was slightly pink in the face. Max's guess was that the boy ran to the assembly as he always ran to school. Max didn't know much about Aspen. He knew he was a farm boy and must be poor because he had the rattiest used books. Aspen was quiet but respected because of his athletic ability. He was considered the fastest boy in Kansas and secured Franklin High a spot in the elite running schools. Aspen slipped in discreetly and leaned against the wall.

Sam Nix (Boy No. 13) leaned over to his twin Eban. "I can't believe none of the teachers are telling him off for being late! I wish I was a damn jock," he whispered.

On stage, Mr. Frankl had ignored the intrusion and was beginning his speech. "Welcome, students. I know you are all confused about our little assembly but allow me to explain. Your grade has been selected out of the entire nation to compete in a new program. While I can't brief you on the specifics now, I can tell you the following. This program will require your cooperation and skills to be successful. You must all take advantage of your various talents. Be sure to make our town proud and lastly good luck and God bless." Their principal finished and looked down and regarded his students with a look that seemed to contain both fear and pity.

"Program? 'Good luck'? What's he talking about?" asked Christian.

"No idea. He's got me freaked though," answered Orson.

"Hey, what's that smell?" asked Eli.

Smell? Max breathed in. The air was thick with the slightly chemical odor. It reminded him of the smell of the autopsy room in the old medical center the class had visited in 7th grade.

"Does anyone else feel light headed?" asked Victoria as she lay her head down on the table.

"A bit," said Christian as Eli moved to massage Victoria's back.

"Hey, Tory are you okay?" Eli asked his girlfriend. She didn't respond. "Tory? Victoria?" Eli shook her gently by the arm and she fell back limp in her chair.

"Oh my God, she fainted!" cried Christian.

Across the room petite John Wright's (Boy No. 19) head hit the edge of the table with a loud thunk as he suddenly fell out of his seat.

"John?" shouted Lee Thompson (Boy No. 15).

Nathalie Hawes (Gil No. 11) was slumped over with her hair slowly sliding into her face. Max saw her friend Samantha Garret (Girl No. 8) shriek before the edges of his vision began to fade black and he felt a pang of extreme tiredness.

"Max? Max! Stay with me!" Orson's voice rang through his head as Max quietly slid down in his seat and out of consciousness.

Olivia Barton (Girl No. 3) heard muted voices through her dream. She suppressed them instinctively, much as she suppressed the voice of her mom shouting for her to wake up for school each morning. After successfully ignoring the conscious world Olivia returned her attention to her dream.

She was back in her hometown of Lexington, Kentucky. She was riding her old horse Old Timbers or Timmy for short. Of course she had had to sell Timmy before she moved to Kansas, but now that was unimportant. What was important was that Olivia was finally reunited with Timmy, riding past the farms with black fences. Timmy ran fast and hard and Olivia smiled at the exertion. It was fall and the air was crisp. Under Timmy's hooves leaves crunched.

Suddenly Timmy bucked, something he had never done in the four years Olivia had ridden him. "Whoa, steady!" Timmy ignored her soothing and continued to buck. Finally Olivia was flung off the horse and landed hurt in the leaves. Her leg looked broken. She looked up at the horse and saw a look of pure betrayal in the animal's eyes. Timmy raised his legs as if to strike her with his powerful limbs.

Olivia woke with a start, the image of her rouge horse still imprinted in her mind. The first thing she noticed was a cold metallic feeling on her neck. Her hands flew to her neck. She felt a necklace, maybe a choker of some sort on her neck. This was strange because Olivia had never liked wearing chokers. They made her feel strangled.

She ignored the necklace to further investigate the next thing she noticed – she was in a classroom sitting in the first row of desks. Several of her classmates were already sitting up and asking the obvious questions. _Where are we? Why are we here? Is the assembly the last thing you remember too?_ Olivia looked around. She was sitting between Max Graybill and Angela Davidson (Girl No. 4). Max was just waking, but Angela was already up. Olivia noticed a collar around both their necks. _A collar? That must be what I have on too. _

"Angela? What's going on?"

Angela laughed. "And how would I know? All I know is last thing I remember everyone was fainting at the assembly and all the teachers were locking the doors."

Olivia nodded. "Me too. I didn't see the teachers though. I must have been knocked out early."

"Eh, kind of. I was just one of the last." Olivia personally thought this made sense as Angelina was over weight and it would probably take more drugs to knock her out.

"Hey, do you think this is what Mr. Frankl was talking about? The program, I mean."

"Ah, an intuitive one!" The class turned to see a middle-aged man wearing a Patriots jacket and an old baseball cap. He had a noticeable 5 o'clock shadow and a prominent beer belly. "Keep that up and you might just survive this little game!" The man seemed genuinely pleased with her, but Olivia was confused by his words.

"Survive?"

"All in good time, my dear," he answered with a smile. The man walked to the board and wrote 'Mr. Emerson' in big words. "Hello, kids. My name is Mr. Emerson and I would like to welcome you to Battle Royale. Now give me a moment to find the briefing vid…" He walked over to the oak desk in the corner that was covered in papers and empty cups of ramen and began to rummage around. "Aha! There we go!" he said feeding the video into the old TV attached to the wall like the ones in Franklin High. _Well isn't that just like home? _Olivia thought bitterly.

The TV clicked on and a group of teenage girls jump roping appeared. Their hair was crinkled into 70s style curls and they wore overalls. "B-A-T-T-L-E, B-A-T-T-L-E R-O-Y-A-L-E!" they chanted in high voices. A red-head did a cartwheel from the left side of the screen to the center of the TV.

"My name's Tina, we are the Battlettes and _you_ are the lucky class selected for this year's Battle Royale! Yay! Aren't they lucky, girls?!" Tina asked the girls still jumping rope.

"SO LUCKY!" shouted the girls in creepy unison.

"You bet! Well now I'll explain BR to you. Pay attention or you'll be _sad_!" Tina made an exaggerated puppy dog face. "You see the kids in America were _bad_, so the government decided to teach them how lucky they were by creating Battle Royale! Right now you are on an _itsy-bitsy_ island. The only people on this island are you, your instructor, and a few soldiers. You will each be issued a weapon and asked to leave the school one at a time. And how are the weapons assigned, girls?"

"RANDOMLY!"

"That's right! Once you leave school, the game begins! Rules are simple: you fight until only _one_ of you is alive, and that person is the winner! The winner gets a life time pension and to live!"

"YAY WINNERS!"

"'Yay' is right, girls! Now remember: you need to kill your friends to win! To make sure you fight, you each are wearing a collar. Every six hours the instructor will assign danger zones on your map. If you wander into the danger zone, BOOM! Guess what happens?"

"YOU DIE!"

"That's absolutely right! Also, if no one dies in any 24 hour period than guess what?"

"BOOM, YOU DIE!"

"Right again! That's all you need to know for now, so listen to your instructor, good luck, kill or be killed, and remember…"

"HAVE FUN!"

The video ended and the picture dissolved into static until Mr. Emerson flicked off the TV. "So do you guys get it?"

The classroom was dead silent. Students snuck glances at each other. These were friends and classmates they had known for years. They couldn't just kill each other. That was ridiculous!

"Now, kids, your parents have been notified about this as has your school (obviously) and your community. Now I can tell by your looks that you are quite opposed to killing your classmates—"

"Damn right!" shouted Eban Nix.

"Eban is it? Or Sam?"

"Eban," the boy answered grudgingly.

"Ah, Eban. I will excuse that little outburst, but if it happens again, I will set off the bomb in you collar and destroy both jugulars by blowing up your neck," Mr. Emerson paused. "And you will die."

The class gasped and Eban looked shocked. "Very well, as I was saying, you may not want to kill you're friends. You my not think it possible, but know this: it is. And if you don't kill others, they can and will kill you. Any questions?"

Jennifer Nolan (Girl No. 18) raised her hand. "Yes, Jennifer?"

Jennifer stared the instructor straight in the eye and asked in a cold voice, "How good of weapons are there?" The class shifted to look at her. Jennifer was an average girl who did well in Science. She wanted to be a doctor to help people. And here she was, plainly up to killing her classmates and friends.

Mr. Emerson smiled. "Very good ones. A few are all but worthless, but I guess it all depends on your creativity, but most are very good. Guns, daggers, machetes, etcetera." Jennifer nodded.

"Any other questions? No? Okay, then. Chase, bring the pencils!" Three heavily armed soldiers flung open the doors and walked into the classroom. Girls flinched as they walked through the rows distributing pencils and paper. "There are three types of learners," Emerson explained. "Auditory, visual and (my personal favorite) kinesthetic. To help auditory learners you will write 'I will kill my classmates' three times."

Olivia seethed with anger as she obediently scratched the words into her paper. "Good, good. Prepare the kinesthetic lesson, Chase." One of the soldiers exited the room. "Kinesthetic learners learn by doing. By experimenting and trying out," Chase returned with a small man walking dejectedly at gunpoint. "So, one lucky student will learn right now by doing."

Emerson smiled. He grabbed what looked like an old fishbowl from his desk. Inside were small slips of paper. He gingerly reached in a hand and pulled out a slip. " 'Girl No. 12, Fae Hopper.' Come up here, honey." Fae remained still until the girl next to her; Mauria Hutchinson (Girl No. 13) nudged her. Fae then supported herself with her thin hands on her desk and stood, shaking. She slowly gained balance and walked to the instructor.

"Very good," said Emerson, almost encouragingly. "Now, you are going to learn to kill by doing. This man is a terrorist. He has also acted as a traitor to your country. You will kill him." Chase handed Fae a Double Action Semi-Automatic pistol. "This is a simple gun. All you have to do is pull the trigger. Oh, an aim for the head, it might get messy if you don't."

Fae looked down at the pistol. It was silver and bulkier than she had expected. _Just pull the trigger._ She looked at the man. He was small and extremely thin. He had short grey hair and dark brown eyes. His eyes were sad and full of pity. They seemed to be saying "It's okay, I understand." His hands were curled around his sleeves. _Get some backbone. _Fae looked at Emerson who nodded and smiled. She knew if she didn't kill this man, Emerson would kill her. _It's your life or his. _

Fae took hold of the gun and raised it slowly, her arm trembling. She only looked up at the last second – to face Emerson.

"I can't do it." Fae handed the instructor the gun. He sighed and immediately shot Fae in the head before shooting the man. The left side of Fae's head was blown away as was part of her neck. The right side of her head was splattered with blood and brains. Her right eye fluttered sporadically and she fell slowly to the floor, her pale coloring completely diluted by blood. The man's death was cleaner. He was hit right between the eyes and his head was knocked back. The bullet exited through the back of his head and bits of destroyed brain tissue began to seep out the bullet hole and onto his forehead.

"…And that's for the visual learners."

**A/N Thank you to mitsuko and SlasherFanatic26 for reviewing! You guys rock! I know this chapter sucked and the whole Emma Voigt thing was really drama queen stupid middle school stuff, but I couldn't think of a better way to do it. If it seemed like Max and Orson are gay…they aren't lol. Olivia's dream was weird but it was supposed to foreshadow betrayal, I guess. PLEASE REVIEW. Next chappie will be the class roster. **


	4. HOUR 1

Chapter 2: Start Game

Renshu Zhu (Boy No. 19) sat back in shock. He and the rest of his classmates had just watched as their instructor calmly blew the brains out of Fae Hopper and the man she had been ordered to execute. The pale girl's blood had sprayed, splashing on several students in the first row. Renshu was lucky to be in the back row, because he had always gotten queasy around blood. Even in health videos showing corny pictures of throbbing arteries were enough to force him into a cold sweat. His stomach turned as he watched Katie Antrim (Girl No. 1) wipe the bright red liquid from her face, leaving a faint red imprint of her middle and forefingers across her cheek.

Renshu had barely known Fae, not many did because of her shy nature, but he got the general idea that she was timid and sweet. He also knew that she went red every time Luke Golding was near and that she walked to school. All in all, she was an average girl who had never hurt a fly and Emerson had no fucking reason to off her like she was nothing.

Renshu looked up at his instructor. Emerson had handed the pistol to Chase, adjusted his baseball cap, and regained his disturbing smile. "I'm sorry that had to happen. But, it should serve as a lesson to all of you; kill or you _will_ be killed. And besides, what did Fae's choice accomplish? Even if she didn't kill him, that terrorist was always going to die. So now he's dead and Fae has joined him."

_Sick bastard, _thought Renshu. But as against Emerson's logic as he was, the sentiment struck true. Some of his classmates would be willing to kill. And just maybe Renshu was too. After all, if he didn't kill, then someone else would.

"This concludes the game briefing. Just remember what the Battlettes told you, fight hard, and you should be fine…Unless of course someone fights harder…Or you get a crappy weapon…Or you're just a useless wimp…" Emerson trailed off. "Well, the likelihood is that you won't be fine, but even if you don't win remember to go down fighting! Now good luck to all of you! Anyone of you can kill; you all have it in you! Trust no one! Now Boy Number 1 – Christian Bailey – you're up!"

Renshu watched as easy going Christian stood up, caught the supply pack thrown to him by Chase, and exited the room after taking one last look at his class. Christian wouldn't fight, would he? Not kind Christian who loved baseball and went to Sunday school each week! Renshu quickly disregarded the idea. Besides, Christian had looked sick, his skin white against his flaming red hair.

"Girl No. 1, Katie Antrim!" Katie calmly nodded to her best friend, Elaine McCarthy (Girl No. 17) and shouldered her supply pack before walking out the door. And so the role call went on. Some students cursed Emerson before leaving, to which the instructor just nodded, some girls cried, and some vowed fervently not to fight. Renshu was doubtful about this, though.

Renshu was a heavy and slow Asian boy who had never exactly fit in. He wasn't teased per say, but he knew that many of his classmates were more capable of cruelty than they looked. Renshu would be surprised if none of the students began killing. And the thing that frightened him the most was his own instincts; his body was tightening for a battle and he was almost unconsciously annualizing his new opponents. He was instinctively sifting through his classmates to pinpoint his major competition. Not that he was for sure fighting…. just incase.

Jennifer Nolan (Girl No. 18) disappeared out the door and Renshu realized with a jolt that he was next. _Shit, locked in a death match with 2 minutes to think of a plan. _Renshu was never a top student, much to his parent's dismay, and his mind was blank. _I need to think of something quick! Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God! I'll get as far away as possible. There were people here so there must be buildings. I'll lock myself in one and think of something there. _ Good, he had a plan, or at least for now.

"Boy No. 19, Renshu Zhu!" Renshu took a deep breath and used his desk as leverage to lift his large, shaky body. Chase threw his supply bag at him and it hit him hard. The impact nearly knocked him off balance and Renshu's hands seemed to have momentarily forgotten how to catch. _So much for being cool and collected. _With one look back at the remaining three students, Renshu swung open the double doors and walked out into the struggle for his life.

Demaras Arsega (Girl No. 2) was lost. She was a Mexican immigrant and understood only fragments of the English language and spoke less. Demaras had arrived in Kansas only 6 months ago with her mother, father and younger brother. It had taken months for her family to become American citizens, but after 5 months they had finally received their papers and been allowed into United States – leaving dusty Mexico behind.

Starting school had been hard. She could talk only to the old Spanish teacher and the kids ignored her. In every class Demaras sat in the back, looking outside the window and listening to the choppy English gibberish. Every once in a while she would hear her name (pronounced incorrectly) and she would look up at a teacher who would ask a question in words Demaras didn't know. Demaras would nod slightly and the teacher would be satisfied.

Beyond that, Demaras spent the day zoning out as she watched the world through her window and dreamt of Mexico. At home her parents asked if she was making friends. Yes, she replied. They asked if she was learning English. Yes. Her little brother asked if school was fun. Yes.

Demaras was content in her own world of dreams, but now she was completely lost. She couldn't understand the words the man with the unnerving smile said. She couldn't understand her classmate's frantic questions before she arrived. She didn't understand why Fae Hopper was lying dead on the classroom floor. But she did understand the gasps and screams and dead looks of those who weren't lost. And Demaras thought she knew why she found an ice pick in her supply bag.

But nothing was certain and Demaras was holding her breath as she walked in the field beyond the school. The rest of the island was green, like a jungle, but the field was crunchy and yellow and dry. The half dead stalks reached all the way to her knees where they scratched thin lines in her flesh. Not painful scratches, just unpleasant.

Demaras's first plan of business was to find someone (maybe one of those nice girls who would point her towards classrooms on her first weeks of school) they would speak in slow, halting English and explain to her what had happened. Demaras of course sensed that it might be dangerous run into anyone after Fae had been murdered, but she had no idea what was going on.

"Demaras!" the Mexican girl heard a sharp hiss. At the edge of the field was the petite but solid form of Valerie Hart (Girl No. 10). Valerie was not one of the nice girls that Demaras had set out to find. Valerie wasn't particularly cruel or even mean, but she was quiet and withdrawn without being meek. Similarly, Valerie was small in stature, as well as thin, but was also built with solid muscles. Although Valerie wasn't Demaras's first choice of a companion, she walked over, grateful to find someone.

"Oh, thank God! I thought I'd never find someone!" Valerie said. Demaras understood little because the words were spoken quickly, but Valerie's voice was warm and happy.

"Hello. I do not understand," Demaras robotically repeated the five words she had been taught by the Spanish teacher.

For some reason a smile grew on Valerie's face. "Oh that's right, I'd forgotten. You can't understand a word I'm saying!" The smile was friendly and bright. "Well, it's okay now. I'll take care of you." Valerie slipped her thin hands around Demaras's waist and pulled her into a hug. "It's alright, I'll send you home. Not long now…" Valerie cooed and Demaras relaxed. The small girl had begun to remind her of her mother. Slowly Valerie's arms began to slide up her back, locking around Demaras's elbows. Valerie continued to coo softly.

There was something slightly sensual about the gesture and Demaras grew uneasy and began to struggle lightly. "It's okay, honey." Valerie's hands reached the base of her neck and Demaras understood that something wasn't right. She struggled and lurched wildly in the girl's arms, but the girl was strong and held Demaras steadily.

The hands had reached the back of Demaras's head, where they folded. Valerie's arms that had locked the Mexican girl's elbows held her still. Demaras twisted and jerked in frantic desperation. Her long, dark hair flurried as she tried to shake her head free. Valerie regarded her calmly with eyes of electric blue and whispered. "Good night."

Valerie's hands jerked forward, forcing Demaras's head down in one clean stroke. Demaras's neck was snapped in .35 seconds. This effectively ended Demaras's life, dreams, and confusion. Demaras was finally home in dusty Mexico.

Valerie smiled softly and let Demaras's body fall gently to the ground. The corpse's dark hair was mussed where Valerie's thin fingers had laced and the neck was completely bent.

"See? It wasn't so bad… Not a bad way to go at all." Valerie redid her blonde ponytail and bent to look through Demaras's supply pack. She immediately ignored the food and water and examined the dead girl's weapon. _An ice pick? Not bad! I can work with this. Beats the hell out of my weapon, anyway. _

Valerie pocketed her own randomly assigned item – a pack of gum – grabbed the ice pick and decided on taking the water bottle.

Ever since the game began, Eli Kraston (Boy No. 7) had been in a panic. War and fighting wasn't his style. He was an artist, the kid who was always sketching pictures of his girlfriend, Victoria, during lunch. _Oh, God Victoria! Please, God, let her be all right!_

Yes, for 8 months now Eli had been going out with Victoria Gentry (Girl No. 9). They were widely known as the most serious couple in the grade, if not the school. They had both been born in Kansas and had known each other all their lives. But until 8th grade when Victoria had seen him sketching during a football game, they had been little more than acquaintances.

"Hey, Eli?" A hand tugged on his shoulder lightly. He looked back at the row above his. He was sitting in the rusty school bleachers 'watching' the football game. In reality he was sketching light strokes of a tree in his notebook. In the row above him Victoria Gentry, the pretty mayor's daughter, was withdrawing her hand from his shoulder.

"Victoria?"

"Yeah, um, I saw you drawing and just wanted to…" Victoria seemed embarrassed and her face was splotched with red. "Say that it was really good…you're very talented."

Victoria's friends Emma Voigt and Rena Lucas were busy giggling and pointing at the jocks on the field. She glanced at them nervously.

"Thanks. That's really nice of you." Eli said shortly. Victoria was nice and extremely pretty, but also very popular and she hung out with Emma. Eli wasn't exactly eager to get mixed up in that crowd.

"Hey, do you mind if I join you?" the girl asked.

"Um sure. I mean no problem."

Victoria stood and hopped down to his level where she sat. Eli noticed that her eyes reflected the stars and her dark blonde hair shone in the dusk like a satin curtain. "Victoria? I know this might be a little odd, but can I draw you?" Victoria's face lit up.

"Really? I mean you don't have to. You could keep drawing that tree…"

"No, I'd love to draw you," Eli said as he drew his pencil in long thin strokes, determined to capture every star in her eyes.

And the picture had turned out very well. Of course it could never compare to the original, but it was close. But now Eli had no clue where Victoria was and whether she was alive or dead. He was somewhere north of the school wandering through the residential zone.

His assigned weapon was a chisel, which he gripped tightly. The area seemed disserted. He breathed in and wiped the sweat from his forehead. When he looked up, he faced a tall building with a roof culminating in a peak. The front was stained glass depicting Jesus hanging on his crucifix. It was a church.

Eli swung open the heavy double doors and walked in. Light was filtered in through the sky light in a long narrow stroke. The pews were empty and dusty. Eli walked past the rows, tracing his fingers in the dust and bathing in the ruby light of the sun through Jesus' bright red stain glass heart.

Amy Langdon (Girl No. 14) was running through the woods. Her dark brown hair that usually cascaded delicately down her back was catching on stray branches and she felt her left cheek scratch on a stiff leaf. Amy had no real plan. In fact, she seldom thought out anything. For lack of a better word, Amy was stupid. She was the prettiest girl in the class, and lived her life as if she was an actress on stage. Her screams were pretty and girly and she projected her voice in the direction of any available boys. Amy was a natural master of attraction, but in any situation involving thought she was doomed.

Many girls pretended to be ditzy to get more male attention, but Amy didn't have to pretend. She really couldn't remember the long words her English teacher gave to her. She couldn't solve basic Algebraic equations and to be perfectly honest it had never mattered. Because Amy was so beautiful, it had never mattered that she had an IQ only digits away from classifying her as mentally challenged. Boys were so enamored with her that without even asking for homework help she received it. Girls were something of groupies to her, each aspiring to slowly become her by association. Even teachers gave her breaks because of her perfect, petite china doll looks.

But that wouldn't help her here. In fact, in utter stupidity Amy was now running loudly and panting heavily, making no effort to stay hidden. Amy needed someone to tell her what to do, like Max Graybill who would guide his pencil across her math paper while she nodded and pretended to listen. Because without outside help, Amy was lost. She couldn't formulate coherent plans, or make simple decisions. In this life and death situation Amy's odds weren't good.

Amy reached a clearing. She stopped without looking around for possible opponents and kneeled on the ground. She slung her supply pack off her shoulder and begun digging through it. Inside she found a crappy compass, stale bread, a water bottle, and a Colt .45 with an instruction book and ammunition. The large gun was bulky in her small hands. Amy bent to read the instructions. It said something about a six round cylinder, but Amy was confused about how to load it. After messing with the chamber for a couple minutes, Amy gave up and stood up, still holding the unloaded gun. If nothing else, she could use it as a heavy mace of sorts.

"Don't move!" Amy turned around to face Renshu Zhu (Boy No. 19). His face was bathed in sweat and he had stripped down to his white undershirt. Amy noticed sweat marks under his arms and the outline of his prominent stomach. He held a sledgehammer poised above her head.

"Don't shoot! I don't want to play this game!" Amy shouted in an oddly theatrical voice and she waved her hands (one still holding the Colt) in an exaggerated peace sign. The sight of the semiautomatic scared Renshu and he immediately dropped the sledgehammer and put his own hands up.

"Oh, God- Amy please don't! I didn't mean it! Please? We can team up!" The large Asian boy began to back away slowly from the heavily armed girl who stood only to his shoulder. This confused Amy because in her shock she had forgotten completely about the gun. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see a formidable opponent. When she saw the still otherwise disserted clearing, Amy decided that he had perhaps had a change of heart. She stepped closer to her new companion.

"Amy, put that down!" shouted Renshu as he took another step backwards. Amy looked down at the Colt in her hand as if she had never noticed it before.

"Oh this? I couldn't figure out how to load it," Amy told him, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just eliminated the reason he had ceased his attack.

"Its not loaded?" Renshu asked, beginning to regain his completion.

"Nope. I have the ammo, though. Can you help me load it?"

Renshu regarded the brunette. She was gorgeous, stupid and well equipped. By all logic he should kill her and steal her gun, but Renshu was a teen boy, after all. Even in a life and death situation, he desperately wanted to protect the girl who could have been a delicate china doll in comparison to him. Besides, he reasoned, its not as if she could betray him or would even think to.

"Sure, Amy. Partners?"

Her smile was perfect and even, though he didn't recall her ever having braces. "Partners." She handed him the gun and dug around in her bag for the ammo, which she also handed over.

Renshu examined the gun. It had a six-bullet chamber. If he was right, Amy hadn't partially cocked it before attempting to load.

"I'll load it at the cabin," he told her. _A Colt must be one of the most powerful weapons_, he thought with satisfaction

"Cabin?"

"There's one behind the brush over there," he pointed at an overgrown edge of the clearing. "I was hiding there when I heard you."

"That's great! I bet no one will find us there!"

Renshu privately wasn't so sure. Sure the brush covered it affectively, but he was doubtful that they would never encounter any others. Call him a pessimist, but he had a bad feeling about all this. Nevertheless, he smiled and led his new companion to their hiding place. As he did so he scrutinized Amy once more out of the corner of his eye. At least he would die with the best company imaginable.

Dead:

Girl No. 12- Fae Hopper (time in game: 0hrs 0min)

Girl No. 2 –Demaras Arsega (time in game: 48 min) ; eliminated by Girl No. 10- Valerie Hart


	5. HOUR 2

Chapter 3: Welcome

Luke Golding (Boy No. 4) was creeping through the thick brush of the jungle. He had considered waiting for his best friend, Parker Hanson (Boy No. 5), who was scheduled to leave school just 4 minutes after him, but had decided to look for the other students instead. Luke was athletic, passive, and an all-around decent guy. He couldn't and wouldn't consider the possibility that any of his classmates were actually playing the game. Nevertheless, he clutched his assigned weapon (a wooden baseball bat) in his left hand and used it absent mindedly to brush stray branches from his path.

In a sick way this was the vacation he had never had – lush forests, tropical climate, blue skies, and the quiet lap of the ocean off somewhere to the far west. Luke smiled to himself and continued his pursuit of his classmates. Luke's plan was simple. He would round up his classmates, and together they would take down the government's game. The thought that it was an impossible quest had barely even occurred to him. Luke was a natural born optimist and he strongly believed that working together his class could escape the government's trap and return home with their lives. Any other outcome was unthinkable.

Of course there was Fae. Luke still couldn't get the image of her eyes widening before half of her head was blown away out of his mind. The scene replayed itself again and again, always ending with Fae's blood splashing onto his dress shirt and the girl herself falling in a wet, bloody heap on the school-regulation floor. In fact, Luke now had the stain of the pale girl's blood on his collar and shoulder. He shuddered lightly and tried to forget about it.

Luke waved his bat once more to deflect a particularly thorny branch. It was difficult to say what Luke experienced first – the loud distinctive sound of a bullet exiting the barrel of a gun, or a sudden excruciating pain in his left leg. In any case, he was shot from a distance. Blood gushed from his calf and Luke instinctively dropped to the ground gripping his leg. Blood was flowing steadily through his fingers and Luke stared at it in shock. Not only was he experiencing the most painful moment of his life, but also Luke had to face the fact that one of his classmates had purposely shot him… and now they were probably coming to finish him off.

After a couple seconds, Luke's survival sense took over and he began to crawl away slowly, using his arms as leverage and desperately trying to ignore the feeling of hot blood trickling down his leg. He had only crawled a couple of feet when the leaves of the trees in the distance began to rustle slightly, signaling his attacker's approach. _Oh, my God. This is real!_ Luke propped himself up into a kneeling position and (using the baseball bat) slowly rose into a standing position. The pain was incredible and every time he put weight on his left leg, he could feel his shattered bones crunching together. Luke knew he had little chance of survival. He was badly injured and could hardly stand (let alone walk) and his opponent was better armed and bloodthirsty. More than anything, Luke wanted to face death upright. And so he stood and waited, as the rustling branches grew closer.

The rustling was only a couple yards away now. Luke squared his shoulders and raised his baseball bat. He leaned his weight on his good leg and tried to arrange himself in fighting stance. _Won't be long now. Time to meet my maker, _Luke thought grimly. The rustling stopped and a small frame stumbled out.

"Luke! I am so sorry!" cried Julieanne Walker (Girl No. 21). Her face was tear stained and her voice hysterical. A silver pistol glinted in her hands. "I didn't mean to! I was just so scared…Oh, God! Are you okay? Of course not! I-I just thought you might be playing…" Julieanne finally fell silent and looked at Luke in shame. "I'm so sorry."

Luke almost laughed. He had been expecting a formidable, blood driven, Lord of the Flies classmate already bent on unleashing their slaughter. Instead petite Julieanne had staggered out of the brush, afraid of her own shadow.

"Julieanne? It's okay calm down." He smiled, "You scared me there. I was already saying my prayers." Julieanne returned his smile weekly.

"So, you're leg?" she asked looking down with a noticeable blush.

"It's been better."

"Luke, I'm so sorry! I don't know wh-" she started to explain.

"It's not your fault. I'm scared as hell too," Luke said and he hobbled over to lay his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. Julieanne again attempted a smile. It turned out as a grimace.

"How could I think that you would ever kill? God, I'm such an idiot. Can you even walk?"

"Really, Julieanne, it's okay. I can walk pretty well, but I'll need some bandages. And anyway, now I have some to notch company," Luke grinned at her. He really did forgive her. After all, who could expect anyone to be sane in this game? And meek little Julieanne didn't have the malice to hurt a fly intentionally. His leg still hurt like hell, though.

"Oh, I know. It's so good to have company. I really was going insane out there! I know you can't walk well, let alone fight, but I'll stay with you," she smiled cheekily. "I'll protect you." Luke laughed. God, it felt good to laugh and banter. It took the weight of the world off his shoulders and distracted him from the knowing sensation in his leg.

"What a knight in shining armor!" he exclaimed in false falsetto.

"You've got that right. Hey, there's a hospital on the map. We can head there, fix you up, and then come up with a plan," Julieanne said after consulting her map. "Here, Luke, I'll help." She offered him her shoulder to support himself before pocketing her small gun.

"Sounds good to me," he paused. "Hey, Julieanne?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for not leaving me." Julieanne smiled and Luke noticed for perhaps the first time her perfect teeth and the pretty splash of freckles on her nose and cheeks.

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Katie Antrim (Girl No. 1) sat down in the grass. She had fled the school and had run to the mountain without looking back. Katie had predicted that the mountain would be deserted and she was right. Katie had based her prediction on her general opinion of her classmates. They were lazy and generally half-assed. Of course none would have the endurance or patience to run to the very Southeastern corner of the island just to climb a mountain for a bit of privacy and rest. Katie smirked; winning would be a synch. Providing, of course, that she had received a good weapon. A gun would be best – small, compact, and deadly – but she would settle for anything effective at bashing or ripping. Katie still hadn't checked what she had received, but she got the idea from the amount of weight that had crashed against her back as she ran that it was decently heavy. Definitely a good sign.

Katie took a deep breath (as this was the moment of truth) and dug her hands into her supply bag. She felt a cold, smooth metal. She slid her forefinger along it until the pad of her finger was nipped on the edge and she felt a couple drops of blood bubble out. Then she grasped the handle and pulled out a full sized machete. The blade was curved and sharp. _Oh hell yes! This I can work with!_

Katie smirked again before raising her bleeding forefinger to her lips and sucking the blood that dribbled out. She admired the unique taste of blood as she rose and headed down the mountain delirious with excitement, satisfaction and bloodthirst. Perhaps she would pardon Elaine, but the rest were hers.

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Ashley Upson (Girl No. 19) kneeled in a house in the residential community. Her skirt was pulled over her knees and her heartbeat raced. She had pulled her light brown hair back from her slightly childish face and was wringing her hands. Her hastily applied makeup was smeared slightly and her nails were already bitten to a quick. Plainly put, Ashley was a mess.

Ashley wasn't typically cowardly or nervous, but this was a special circumstance. 41 – no 40 (after you take out Fae) – of her classmates were circling around her at that very moment all competing for their lives. Yes, these were _very_ special circumstances.

Ashley tried to calculate her chances of survival. They were nada, zilch. To survive she would have to be willing to fight, and as much as Ashley longed to live, she could not find it in herself to fight. And besides her assigned weapon had been a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. What was that? Some kind of sick twist on a health class lesson? No, she wouldn't fight. Instead she would make use of her last hours by fantasizing shamelessly about Stephan Zuckerman (Boy No. 21) and wait to be killed. The thought almost brought tears to her eyes. Hers' would be a young death. Terribly sad and romantic. Maybe they would write a play about it…

And they could cast Stephan as her love interest. Of course Stephan would probably also be dead in a matter of hours. Ashley imagined his perfect body slowly rotting in a body bag on the plane back home. He would have a flesh wound or two probably, or maybe even a bullet. The thought made her tremble. Stephan had always been her idol. She had worshipped him from afar. He seemed immune to the stupid little trivialities of everyday life, but now he was caught up in a Battle Royale. Perhaps that's what scared Ashley the most – even for special people like Stephan there was no escape.

"Is anyone there?" a voice called from outside. Ashley immediately began to hold her breath and she crawled under the coffee table to be better hidden.

"Anyone?" Footsteps sounded on the cracked pavement outside Ashley's hiding place. "I'm not playing!" Whoever it was Ashley didn't trust, and she stayed hidden. Slowly the doorknob clicked and began to turn. Ashley froze in shock. Out of all the houses why did the intruder choose hers?! The hinge of the door creaked and the door swung forward faster than Ashley had expected Perhaps the door had stuck and suddenly gave under the weight of the intruder. Ashley wasn't sure, but whatever the case, the door swung forward admitting a long streak of sunlight and Stephan Zuckerman in the flesh. It took Ashley a while to realize that she wasn't daydreaming.

"Ashley?" Stephan's voice was hoarse. He clutched a fork. Ashley stared blankly at the boy of her dreams. The shock proceeded by trauma seemed to have finally addled her mind.

"Stephan? Why are you here?" she answered finally.

"I-," Stephan looked uncertain. "I came to find friends."

"Friends?" Ashley's mouth formed the word as if she was hearing it for the very first time. "You aren't playing?"

"Well, no." Stephan's eyes flickered to Ashley's supply bag but she didn't notice.

"Really?" Ashley rose too quickly from under the table and almost banged her head. She rushed over to him and threw her arms around him in a bold hug. Stephan looked taken aback.

"Yes, really." His voice held something extra in it, maybe nervousness or fright. Ashley was so rattled that she didn't realize she was hugging the boy she had never been able to touch without blushing heavily and looking down.

"That's so great!" _We can stay together and he'll take care of me and I'm okay now….God, I'm happy! _

"Yeah…yeah it is." Stephan began to tentatively stroke her mess hair that had fallen from her ponytail. "I'll take care of you. I mean, I know we don't know each other well, bu-"

"Oh, I know you very well," Ashley cut him off. Stephan smiled a nervous sort of smile and ran a free hand through his own hair (with some difficulty because Ashley still clung to him.)

"Right, er … what's your weapon. I only got a stupid fork." Stephan held out his paltry weapon.

Ashley laughed. "I'm not much better off than you. I got a pack of cigarettes and a lighter." She was ecstatic. She had found the boy she loved and he promised to take care of her. He would save her and in the meantime she could enjoy the luxury that was his arms around her and his stroking hand. She looked up at him. His hair was golden and his eyes cloudy blue. His skin was as perfect as unmarked marble. And the look in his cloudy blue eyes was…violent.

"It will do," he said in a rough voice she had never heard. She watched as her savior-love brought his shiny silver fork to her temple. She struggled but his grip tightened from comforting to harsh and commanding. The prongs of his fork rested on her temple -- four cold little silver pricks resting on her soft skin.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry. I can't die." Stephan Zuckerman dug his fork forcefully into the soft flesh of her temple. He used his strong football muscles to beak the surface of her skin lightly and struck her repeatedly, aiming for the temple. Stephan vaguely knew that a strong blow to the temple would insure immediate death. He had not quite been able to lodge a sufficient blow however because of her struggling. She was whipping her head from side to side and his fork kept missing her temple each time.

Ashley felt the blood pumping in her head. Her brain felt jostled as she shook her head as fast as possible to throw off Stephan's attack. This, however, could not deflect the blows landing on her face and neck. Twice the prongs had barely missed gouging out one of her eyes and blood from her cheek flowed freely. She knew it wouldn't be long before the murderous boy hit her temple, killing her. She had to get out of his grasp soon and fighting out was nearly impossible because of his tall, strong frame that she had always admired. So as Stephan stuck out with another desperate blow with his eating utensil (scraping her nose and causing a small river of blood to flow out) Ashley brought her knee up squarely into his crotch.

Stephan released her as if he had been burned and fell down in a quivering mass on the wood floor. Ashley grabbed the lamp on the coffee table she had hid under and flung it at her opponent. The pink china shattered on his back, and several shards cut his neck and shoulders. _Damn it! Crazy bitch! _Stephan was in a world of pain, but he willed himself to stand up and face the girl nearly 7 inches shorter and 60 pounds lighter than him.

The girl was instinctively backing up, her hands grasping knickknacks behind her back to throw at Stephan. He bared his fork and limped only slightly as he walked toward her. Ashley's hands landed on a metal clock. It was heavy and round and it required all of her strength to hurl it at the boy. The gold clock hit him in the arm, around chest level. He staggered back wit his arm prickling in pain from the momentum of her blow. Ashley looked back. No more heavy objects remained for her to throw. Her heartbeat accelerated even further as she pulled the lighter from her skirt pocket. It took a couple tries to light the flame wither shaking hands and Stephan was up again by the time she managed to produce a feeble flame.

Stephan was careful to avoid the flame as he punched her squarely in the jaw with his left fist. The pure power of his arm knocked her off kilter and she fell back against the wall, still grasping the lighter. Tears leaked out her eyes. Stephan pinned her up to the wall with his left hand and plunged his fork directly into her eye with his right. He heard a slight popping sound, followed by a mushy squish and Ashley's howl of pain and rage. Stephan twisted the utensil and worked it in farther. Ashley's eye was split like an undercooked hardboiled egg and a clear liquid seeped from her eye socket. Tears leaked faster and faster from her left eye. Stephan smirked at his handy work._ Try fighting for me know, bitch. _

Ashley's vision was completely gone on her right side when her rage overtook her pain. This bastard had tricked her and lied to her and took her fucking eye! He was dead! She swung the lighter at his left arm, which still pinned her to the wall. Flames licked his flesh and in seconds Stephan screamed shrilly and dropped her roughly to hold his burned arm. Ashley wasted no time. She grabbed the fork he had dropped and slashed his face with the shiny prongs. Four neat trails of blood erupted. _How do you like that, bastard? _Stephan snarled and lashed out with his fist. Ashley dodged him, however, and kneed him in the crotch again. _A good attack, that_ Ashley though with satisfaction a he fell to the ground again. She stepped behind the large boy and hoisted him up onto his knees as he hissed through his teeth. On his knees, Ashley finally had a height advantage and she held his shoulders as she poised the fork at his temple.

"See you in hell, bastard." Ashley stabbed the fork into his temple in one powerful and neat stroke. The prongs punctured the major artery that lay close beneath his skin and Stephan died immediately of massive internal bleeding. Ashley released his shoulder and let Stephan Zuckerman's corpse crumble to the ground. For good measure, Ashley stabbed his chest repeatedly with the dead boy's own weapon until his stationary blood leaked out and stained his dress shirt. _So much for the supposed love of my life. _Ashley stood; kicking the boy she had idolized for so long, and howled into the air, before plunging the fork into her own eye socket – finishing the job that Boy No. 21 had started.

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Chris Mathews (Boy No. 10) was deep in the jungle. He was slouched against a tree trunk and his hands were ripping at the lush green grass beneath him. A large chunk of grass came away in his hands. His situation was not good. Chris was an incredibly small boy. He was passive and had a tendency to over emphasize with others. These traits had prompted him to allow himself to be taken advantage of on more than one occasion. Besides that Chris had a definite lack of anger and aggression. Even under the most infuriating circumstances he stayed quiet and kept his voice even. Even fighting to save his own life would be a stretch. And then there was his weapon… Chris sighed loudly and watched the bright red sun begin to set over the dark outline of the treetops. He had received a bible as his weapon.

It was big and heavy with a hard cover and childish pictures of the saints and apostles on the pages. At first he had thought that it was included in every supply pack and he had not received a weapon, but etched on the inside cover he found a message in blue ink: "Chris, wars have been fought and people have died over the word of God. Now you will fight with the word of God. –Emerson."

Perfect, bloody perfect. Chris wasn't even religious and now he was supposed to use an oversized bible as his only chance of defending himself?? Chris could see it now. Some faceless killer wielding a chain saw would come at him and Chris would cower behind the "word of God" until the chain saw would spilt the book in half along with Chris's head. And then his very brains would fall on the "word of God". _Lovely._

Even so, as the red light fell from the sky onto the small boy, the book gave some comfort and Chris opened it. His sweaty hands stained the page and Chris read the first words of the Old Testament. _In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters. Then God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light. God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light day, and the darkness He called night. And there was evening and there was morning, one day._

Night fell on the island as Chris read those words and the contestants were engulfed in darkness.

Dead:

Boy No. 21, Stephan Zuckerman (Time in game: 2 hrs. 45 min); Eliminated by Girl No. 19 – Ashley Upson

**A/N SlasherFanatic26, you are the best reader/ writer ever and without your support I would have stopped writing! My internet's a little screwy and I haven't been able to review your latest chapters, but they are amazing! I love Samantha (I know, wait root for the crazy one, lol) but she I so awesome. Apparently you are very good at writing about insanity, haha. **

**I just noticed that my numberings and page breaks aren't showing up. I tried a row of x's instead. Hopefully that will show up. I also noticed that I'm really beating up on the blonds and the girls. All of my violent people so far (Valerie, Stephan and Katie) have been blonds! I don't have some sort of thing against them though, lol. I'm blond! I guess I'm just trying to prove that blondies are tough to. Aside from that I've killed a lot of girls. Stephan was going to kill Ashley, but I felt like tat would be too many girls dead. And anyway the girls are kicking the boys' butts in the killing tally! **


	6. HOUR 3

Chapter 4: The Hunt

Samantha Garret (Girl No. 8), Elaine McCarthy (Girl No. 17) and Charlie Lawrence (Boy No. 8) lounged on the rocky cliff overhanging the beach. By chance the three had all headed there and decided to join up only a couple of hours after the game started. Now night had settled and they shone their flashlights to produce the light to talk quietly. The three hadn't been best friends in class, but they were all on relatively good terms with each other. Joining up had been the only sensible move, not to say that they weren't at least somewhat doubtful of their companion's trustworthiness.

Elaine shivered and hugged her knees close to her chest. The deep cold of night had come as an unexpected contrast to the heat of day. Charlie frowned slightly. He raised his flashlight to illuminate her face.

"Cold, isn't it? They could have at least warned us to bring coats. 'Course, it's burning up in Kansas right now." _Well, we're not in effing Kansas anymore, are we?_

"Yeah," Elaine sighed. She longed for her bed and reliable indoor heating.

Samantha sat up. "You know what I wonder? How teachers that we've known for years could throw us into this. You know Mr. Frankl is friends with my Mom. I've known him since I was about two and he sent me off to die." Samantha's face was hard in the scope of the flashlight.

"Bastard. All those talks about morals and life skills and freaking respect and he ships us off in a mandatory slaughter," Charlie growled. "Don't worry, Sam. We'll figure something out." He laid his hand on the brunette's shoulder comfortingly and squeezed.

Elaine was somewhat uneasy. She had known when she joined up with Samantha and Charlie that they were both aggressive. They had volatile personalities and under the right circumstances they might crack and go on a killing spree. Of course, now they were verbally attacking the government and adults that had put them in this position, but Elaine decided to keep her guard up.

Samantha grinned. "If I ever get out of here you can bet some people will be getting it." Charlie returned the grin and Elaine shuddered. Samantha all but reeked aggression and possible violence and Elaine was understandably unnerved under the circumstances. "Jesus, we have to get out of here," Samantha whispered on a softer note.

"We will," answered Charlie. His voice was strong ad Elaine felt a bit relived. Elaine noticed that Charlie's hand again rested on Samantha's shoulder reassuringly. Elaine smiled. It was ridiculous to think about under the circumstances, but Samantha and Charlie would make a cute couple, if a little testosterone charged.

. :X: .

Charlie fell asleep grasping the handle of his assigned weapon (a metal shovel). He wasn't nearly as confident in the group's chances of survival as he had seemed and he slept in fits between which he studied Samantha's sleeping face and his breath caught in his throat. Elaine was right. He did have a thing for Samantha. He rolled over on his side to face away from the sleeping girls. He faced the blunt blade of Katie Antrim's machete. The blonde smiled.

Samantha woke up to Charlie's scream. She had like-wise slept with her weapon, a dangerously pointed dagger, and her hands already grasped the handle when her eyes fluttered open. Katie Antrim stood over Charlie brandishing a machete. Katie's hair was flustered and her blue eyes were wild. Blood spurted from Charlie's right arm, which had flown up to deflect the machete blow meant for his throat. Elaine was rolling over and waking slowly.

Samantha hefted her body up off the ground and stood with her weight centered between her two legs. She shifted the dagger between hands. Katie took no heed of the menacing stance and brought the bloody machete up again. The blade glinted in the moonlight.

"Katie?" both armed girls turned to see Elaine sitting up. She looked disoriented as she stared at her best friend. Katie froze. Samantha could see her lips moving silently.

CLUNK

Charlie had taken advantage of his distracted attacker and had picked up his shovel and without standing up had clocked Katie in the head with the spade. Katie fell like a ton of rocks. Her head throbbed and she barely retained consciousness. The machete, however clanged on the ground feet from her. Katie cradled her head. Elaine was now fully awake and rounded Charlie who was trying to stop the bleeding with Samantha.

"Why did you do that?! Katie? Are you okay? Jesus, Charlie!" Elaine knelt to comfort her best friend.

"Me?" asked Charlie angrily. "She tried to slice my throat with that fucking big ass knife!"

"She was scared! It's not her fault, damn it!" Elaine shouted as she rubbed Katie's back. The would-be murderess was barely aware of the conversation. Her world consisted of her vibrating skull and rattled brain.

"Elaine, I know she's your friend, but she pulled a machete on Charlie. She would have killed us!" Samantha told the attacker's haggard protector. Samantha had finished ripping a long strip of fabric from Charlie's kakis' hem that she wrapped around his wound. The boy grabbed his shovel and walked over to the two friends.

"Elaine, stand back. If we don't kill her, she'll kill us."

Elaine's eyes widened and she grabbed Katie who was rocking back and forth slowly in her arms. She had known it! They were bloodthirsty killers, both of them! They couldn't wait to bash Katie's brains out with that effing shovel! Well, she wouldn't let them! "Get away from her!"

Samantha stood behind Charlie. Elaine thought she saw the girl's straight white teeth glint in the moonlight. "Elaine, we have to do this! She attacked us! If we give her the chance she will kill us all."

Elaine couldn't believe that. Katie Antrim was her best friend. They did everything together. Katie might be scared and a bit delusional, but who wouldn't be? Elaine let go of her catatonic best friend for a split second – to grab the bloody machete.

"Leave her alone, damn it! If you so much as touch her, I swear I- I'll-" with one smooth motion Charlie brought the handle of is shovel into the raving girl's head. The wood handle was considerably gentler than the spade, but it was enough to knock the girl off her knees and lose consciousness. Yet again the machete dropped out of its holder's hands.

Katie Antrim had finally regained most of her senses. She was aware of her vulnerable position, Elaine's failed defense, and the machete that lay once more within her reach.

Charlie turned to Samantha. Surely she understood. The girl had attacked him. It was her or us. Samantha nodded, but the blood drained from her pretty face. Charlie raised the shovel above the quivering girl's head. She was still collapsed on the ground apparently in agony. Charlie swallowed and the sharp spade descended.

Swiftly, Katie grabbed the machete in her left hand and lashed the inside of Charlie's shin. Her right hand was dominant, so Katie's slash could have gone deeper, but it did the job and blood spurted out in a fast crimson splash. Apparently there is a lesser artery located in the wound leaked a surprising amount of blood. Wrenched with sudden pain, Charlie jerked forward to clutch his bleeding leg, thrusting the shovel down quickly. Katie rolled over on the rock ground and narrowly avoided having her brains beaten out by the heavy tool. Not bad for a pounding headache and one against two odds, she thought with satisfaction.

"Char-" Samantha began to shout to her bleeding friend, but decided against it. Instead she through all her attention to deflecting Katie's surprisingly desperate attack. Charlie crumpled on the ground only feet from Elaine. His two injures had amounted to tons of blood loss and he felt light headed.

Samantha squared her shoulders and brandished her dagger menacingly. Blood pounded in her head. It was life and death. Katie's wild blue eyes flashed to the dagger and her mouth contorted into a bite tooth grin. Samantha immediately realized that Katie Antrim, the girl she had known since second grade, was clinically insane. She shuddered.

Katie took the initiative to close the considerable distance between them and lashed out first. The machete flailed wildly as if to cleave part Samantha's face. Instead the brunette dodged the blade and several strands of dark brown hair were separated from her scalp. Samantha had little idea of how to use a dagger so she aimed blindly for her opponent's stomach. Samantha felt a bit of resistance and realized that she had managed to bury the dagger shallowly in Katie's side. The fabric of Katie's white shirt darkened where the dagger protruded.

The shock of drawing blood paralyzed Samantha and she did nothing to withdraw or apply pressure to the weapon. Katie smiled again. The wound wasn't deep and Samantha was feeble. She simply closed her hand over Samantha's on the dagger's hilt and slowly wrenched it out of her side. It hadn't taken much effort. At most the dagger had been a centimeter beneath the surface, but blood flew freely and Katie hissed as if in pleasure. Samantha's survival sense took over and she wracked the dagger out of Katie's hand with one sure twist. She wasn't ready, however, for Katie's other hand, which held a machete. It swept again, this time it managed to slice into Samantha's shoulder.

The experience for Samantha was surreal. Katie looked like an African rebel swinging a glinting machete, like the type Samantha had seen in web clips of various bloody revolutions. The cut running through her own arm was simply the crack in her porcelain doll as a child – one thin black line running through pure snow white skin.

The dagger fell from her hand and she punched Katie square in the face with her good arm. Katie staggered back, losing the grip on her own weapon. The machete fell with a metallic clank. Blood seeped from Katie's mouth and she grinned again. The moon illuminated her blood stained teeth. She fell on Samantha like a cat. She clawed and struggled. Her nails tore at Samantha's face.

Suddenly she felt a strong blow to her back. She turned to face Charlie. He clutched the shovel and He was limping slightly. _Will he finally die already? _Katie thought furiously. She ignored the fact that he was armed and she wasn't and hurled herself at him. She was more than 50 pounds lighter than him, but the impact knocked him down. She now sat on top of him scratching wildly again. She brought her bony elbow into his face again and again and again. He tried to throw her off of him with the handle of his shovel, but Girl No. 1 ignored the blows. Samantha had risen from her shock and was trying to pull her off, but to no avail.

Charlie's nose was broken, a blood vessel in his eye had popped, and he had lost four teeth by the time she finally stopped her bare handed carnage. Instead she leaned forward with her thin hand claw like from her seat on top of him. She paid no heed to the blows from the shovel or Samantha's persistent pulling. Finally her hands met cold steal. She flourished the machete behind her, slicing into Samantha's exposed collarbone. _Damn, didn't slit her throat. Oh, well, that bitch had forgotten about the machete. _

Samantha stumbled back, trying to keep the blood from escaping her body. Kate laughed and blood sprayed from between her lips. Charlie's eyes widened. Katie swung and with an unpleasant chopping sound the blade cut through Charlie's wrist, separating his hand from the rest of his body. The hand had been holding the shovel felt to the ground where a pool of blood accumulated. Blood pumped sporadically from Charlie's stump with each beat of his heart. His piercing scream rang through out the island. Annoyances (Samantha and the blows from the shovel) aside, Katie rose grinning at him. Charlie continued to stare at his stump of an arm.

Katie pulled Charlie up. Forced him on his knees and slowly with precision inserted the machete blade into the place where the neck and back meet. Charlie screamed in pain and tried desperately with his remaining hand to pry her off. He was week from blood loss and shock, however and remained unsuccessful.

"You know," Katie sneered. "I never would have found you if it hadn't been for the flashlights."

She sank the blade in further, severing his spinal chord and ending his fifteen years of life. His body convulsed sporadically as his brain shut down but Katie was unworried about the inert movements. Charlie Lawrence (Boy No. 8) had troubled her for the last time. His body crumbled under her and she placed her foot at the base of his neck for leverage. She still wore dress shoes. How quaint. Katie Antrim dislodged the machete from the boy's spinal cord without ceremony and wiped the blade on her skirt. She grimaced. Strange what liquids you find in the spinal canal.

She turned to face Samantha. The girl was standing the gash in her collarbone still pumping blood and her face raked by Katie's nails. No wonder the girl had been to weak to come to Charlie's aid. Samantha still held the dagger. Katie dropped the machete. She didn't need anything but her hands to finish this one off.

Like a tiger, Katie pounced on Samantha, avoiding the dagger. Samantha was a strong girl and a good fighter, as well as bigger than Katie, but Katie was full of pure blood thirst. Katie grabbed Samantha by the shoulders. Samantha's brown eyes widened and Katie could see the girl searching for mercy. Well there was no mercy. Katie pushed Samantha off the edge of the overhang in one synchronized shove of her hands. She heard a satisfying plunk when Samantha hit the water. _Let her try to swim back to shore. Even if she survived the fall and makes it to the beach she will be an easy kill with her wounds._

Katie let herself slide to the ground. She grabbed the faithful machete for one last time and began to clean it. Katie was tired. The fight had been long and she hadn't slept in about 36 hours. Besides that, her head still vibrated faintly and her abdomen wound had lost her some blood. She scraped the layers of dried blood off the blade and onto her skirt. She would return to the mountains and sleep until morning. This was enough for the night. She grinned contently as she recalled Charlie's howl. She'd done very well. Suddenly she felt the familiar force of Charlie's shovel spade against her arm. _God damn it! Not again with the fucking shovel!_

A low growl escaped her lips and she swiped the machete uncontrollably in the direction of the blow. She heard a groan and turned to see her best friend, Elaine McCarthy (Girl No. 17), silhouetted against the moon. Truth be told, Katie had forgotten about her friend. And besides, even if she hadn't forgotten she wouldn't be expecting an attack. After all Elaine had protected her in the moments after her concussion. Why the sudden change of heart? This is what interested Katie. She wasn't worried about any confrontation with her friend. Elaine was weak and she could easily kill her. Besides that Katie didn't feel any strong loyalty to her friend. As far as she was concerned the moment she had stepped out of the classroom their friendship had ended. If Elaine had saved her from Charlie and Samantha then that was just good luck as far as Katie was concerned.

"Elaine? Stop attacking me! I'm your friend!" Katie decided to play innocent for now.

"Katie, I saw you throw Samantha off the cliff! Just like I see Charlie' severed hand! Jesus, what did you do to him?! I protected you, trusted you!" Elaine's eyes were scared and Katie wondered how she had ever been friends with anyone so pathetic, even if she had come in handy in the end.

"If you don't remember they were ready to bash my brains out and yours too by the looks of things!" This seemed to make Elaine hesitate a bit.

"Katie I saw you throw Samantha off the edge in cold blood." Katie grinned and Elaine could see the blood in the cracks of her straight white teeth. It reminded her of 12-year-old Katie with braces.

"Well, I can't correct you there." The flat of the blade struck Elaine on the side of the head, taking her by surprise. "Thanks for the defense, anyway. Without it, it would be my brains all over the rocks and not yours." Katie shoved her best friend of six years off the edge. This time, however, she made sure that Elaine hit the rocky beach instead of the water. A painful sounding thunk confirmed that Elaine's brains did splatter over the rocky beach and that Girl No. 17 was dead. Katie Antrim chuckled at the violent end of the most important friendship of her life, thrust the machete into her waistband, and searched her dead friend's supply pack for her weapon. Plastic wrap. Katie shrugged. It was potentially useful. She stuffed the plastic wrap and some of the deteriorated group's food and water in her pack, grabbed the shovel (which she strongly considered leaving due to personal experiences) and disappeared into the jungle. 98 pound, 5'2 Katie Antrim had just racked up the highest current death count in Battle Royale, earning her the title of deadliest competitor.

. :X: .

Dead:

Boy No. 8 – Charlie Lawrence (eliminated by Katie Antrim)

Girl No. 17 – Elaine McCarthy (eliminated by Katie Antrim)

A/N Wow, that was a 5-page fight, lol. Hope it didn't get boring. I literally cracked up writing it at how many tines Katie got hit with the shovel and how often the machete was dropped. Just to clear it up, Ashley didn't kill herself, she finished removing her destroyed eye from the socket…with a fork…. ew. Lol. Oh just a note on the believability of this chapter – yes you can sever a hand with a machete, I looked it up :P – whether or not you can insert one in someone's spinal cord remains to be tested. Also the fork-eye incident. Not so sure about that one. Thanks SlasherFanatic21 for reviewing! You rock so much! Isn't Battle Royale the most fun to write??!


	7. HOUR4

HOUR 4: The Descent

Samantha Garret (Girl No. 8) listened to the clang of a rusty key fumbling in a lock before stepping into the Kansas State Prison's Final Holding Cell. It was bigger than most cells, maybe 10 by 15, but it had all the furnishings of a regular cell. Samantha's tennis shoes scuffed against the dirty floor and she spoke for the first time since entering the prison.

"Hi, Dad." The man in a standard orange prison jumpsuit smiled warmly at her.

"So glad you could make it, Sam…I see your mother couldn't come." His smile was creased with disappointment.

"Yeah, she drove me and I asked her to, but…." Samantha trailed off.

"Don't worry kido, I wasn't really expecting your mother anyway. Besides, you're the best company I could ask for. Just, just tell your mom that I'm sorry and that I did love her and you, too. You know that right, that I love you?"

Samantha nodded and stared at the legs of her father's bunk. "Yeah. I know. I'll tell her too."

A fat tear escaped from the corner of the inmate's eye and slid down his cheek, leaving a line of silky moisture on which the light reflected. "That's good. It's important that you know that, Sam, that I loved you."

Samantha nodded. "I know," she repeated.

The man laughed weakly. "Good, good. You know something, Sam? I read something about human nature once. Something called the "delusion of reprieve" -- psychological term, actually. Anyway, it says that a man condemned to death will continue to think right up to the reading of his last rites, that he will somehow be saved." The man smiled roguishly. "That some force, some heaven-sent angel, will reach out of the sky at the last moment, to save his worthless life. To give him another chance…. And I've got to say, Sam, I feel just that way. Here, now, about to die."

Samantha closed the gap between them and hugged her father hard. This contact upset the guards who shifted as though to make sure the man wouldn't attack his daughter. Instead he stood stiffly in the embrace, dumbstruck.

"You…forgive me Sam? For everything?"

Sam looked up with tears glistening in her dark eyes. "Of course. Why else would I be here?"

The man smiled genuinely for the first time. To him this was the heaven-sent angel. "Thank you, thank you. And I'll be watching over you and your mother, from wherever I get to. I might be getting neck cramps and a sunburn from looking up from the gates of Hell, but I'll watch after you."

Samantha laughed. "I know."

The condemned man looked her straight in the face. He spoke with the vague truth of death. "You be strong now. You stay strong, till the end. Don't let anyone take away your life and lock you up in a cage, no one."

Samantha nodded.

"Do you promise, Sam?"

The words were sure and strong. "I promise."

Two hours later Samantha watched as her father disappeared through a door. His hands were cuffed and he was escorted by two guards. "Stay strong, Samantha!" He yelled. Samantha nodded and repeated the promise. Ten minutes later, the lights flickered because of the 2550 watts of energy that the electric chair sent through her father's body. She fell to the ground with tears rushing out.

_Be strong now. Stay strong till the end. Don't let anyone take your life away, no one. _

Samantha Garret (Girl No. 8) regained her state of mind as her body hit the water. The surface of the water stung as she connected. She had been pushed by Katie Antrim (Girl No. 1) from a cliff almost 20 feet above water level. However the impact brought her back to the present and away from the night her father had been executed.

Samantha tread the water as calmly as she could. It was pitch black, she had no idea which way shore was, and after the most stressful day of her life she had little energy left to keep herself afloat. _Stay strong. _The words still rang in her head. Sure she was tired and hysterical and disillusioned, but damn it, she wasn't going to let Katie God-dammed Antrim kill her! Samantha shuddered as the image of Katie sinking the machete into the base of Charlie's neck flashed in her head and gathered her remaining energy.

It took Samantha a total of 20 agonizing minutes swimming in the perfect darkness to find her way back to shore. When she felt the sharp rocks scratch her stomach, she crawled up further inland and fell asleep in the brush. She barely had time to register Elaine McCarthy's corpse before falling asleep.

.:X:.

"Renshu?"

"Yeah?" Renshu turned to look at Amy Langdon (Girl No. 14). She was sitting on the cabin floor, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Am I going to die?" The question was so innocent and childish that it took Renshu by surprise. In a game of life and death, it had taken Amy three and a half hours to realize that she may never return from the island. She looked so young and scared. Renshu's sledgehammer looked like a chunky child's toy in her tiny hands.

"No, no of course not. I'm taking care of you, remember? Just…don't worry about it, okay?"

"Okay." Amy seemed relieved. Because of Amy's low intelligence, she was often left I the dark, lost on how to live her life, but Renshu made her feel safe. He took care of her and worried for her. He was her protector. Amy's stomach growled. "Can I eat the bread now? I'm really hungry."

Renshu sighed. Amy had been pestering him for food for hours. She couldn't seem to understand that the two stale rolls had to lat them three days, providing they lived that long. "Fine, Amy, but just a bit. We have to save some for later."

Amy nodded and ripped off part of the roll, which she devoured. Renshu could have laughed. Earlier today Amy had been the height of popular. He had been scared to approach her and now he was watching her cram stale bread into her mouth. Ain't irony great?

"Better?" he asked as she wiped the crumbs from her face.

"Much." Amy smiled. "I'm so glad I found you."

"Me too," he replied. In truth he really was glad for the company and beyond that he liked Amy herself. She did what he told her to do and seemed to enjoy his company more than almost anyone had before. Renshu was beginning to feel very guilty for originally planning to kill the girl. Not that he would have actually gone through with it, of course. He was too much of a big softie.

.:X:.

Chelsea Franklin (Girl No. 7) was lost. She had wandered aimlessly until dark fell, with only one objective: stay hidden. Finally she had sat down in the brush, probably somewhere near the heart of the jungle. There she had discovered her assigned weapon –a chainsaw. Most contestants would be please with the bulky weaponry. It was scary, dangerous, and definitely affective, but Chelsea was disgusted.

She was a tall girl, thin and wiry. Her mother had instilled strong vegan eco-friendly beliefs in her from a young age. The thought of eating a slice of pepperoni pizza was repulsive enough, imagine hacking someone apart with a chainsaw! Nevertheless, Chelsea held the huge devise tightly as she made herself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

Chelsea wasn't quite sure what to think. This game – Battle Royale – was kill or be killed. There was no in between, no grey areas. Either her classmates would be willing to kill or not. Chelsea wasn't all that confident in the virtue of human nature. People started wars, killed families, chopped down forests and ate innocent animals every day. But surely for all their faults, none of her classmates would be willing to kill.

Or perhaps only a couple would be willing. The same ones that mocked her values and tried to sneak a slice of ham into her sandwiches at lunch. Yes, it would be them. Emma Voigt (the girl was vicious) and maybe Jaedon Marshal. Yes, he was the one who chomped heavily on a thick hamburger whenever he was near her. Afterwards he would retell the story calling her "that one hippy chick". Uh huh, definitely him.

Chelsea ran a thin hand through her blunt bangs. She would never kill. That was the important thing. If she died then so be it. She would die with the dignity and values she had upheld in life. Even so, Chelsea could quite quash the tiny voice in the back of her mind. _What if you won? _It whispered. _After all, you deserve it. You are a much better person than them all…_

If she did win, Chelsea decided it would be without violence. She would hide out here until the demons destroyed themselves and then emerge the victor. Of course she had friends. Angela, and Shylah and Fae (Oh God, Fae's dead now isn't she?), and she would never abandon them. But a tiny part of Chelsea wished that her friends be disposed of quickly. She took a deep breath and pushed the thought away.

A branch snapped in the distance. Chelsea clung to the heavy weapon and fingered the choke. She had read in the incased users guide that to turn it on, she had to flip thee on/off switch, pull out the choke, pull the chord, and then replace the choke. It sounded pretty complicated and Chelsea hadn't remembered the crazed serial killers in movies fumbling with the choke, but that's the movies for you. Chelsea was fingering the on/off switch when a dark figure stumbled out of the brush. Chelsea could tell it was a girl because of the skirt silhouetted against the moon. The figure was also extremely tall. Chelsea scrambled to her feet. _On/off, choke, chord, choke. _

But Chelsea never got past extracting the choke.

"Chelsea?" Asked the figure.

"Shylah?"

Shylah Davies (Girl No. 5) laughed and stepped closer to her friend. "Damn, girl, you got a chainsaw?" Chelsea threw her arms around Shylah's neck. These were the best possible circumstances. Not only was Chelsea found by a friend she could rust, but by her strongest friend. Shylah could easily fight off attackers.

"I still can't believe it's really you," Chelsea choked. A breath that she hadn't known she was holding escaped from her. Shylah embraced her friend warmly.

"Don't worry. We'll survive this thing. No one's going to get one of my friends."

"Thank God," Chelsea muttered. She laughed hoarsely. "So I got a chain saw that I will never be able to use. How about you?"

Shylah reached into her skirt pocket and drew out a retractable exacto-knife. It wasn't one of the cheep ones used to carve pumpkins, but t still wasn't that great. "At first I was disappointed, but you know I tested it on a tree and it's really growing on me. Sharp as Hell…" Shylah handed it over so her friend could examine it. Not that great, but way simpler than the chainsaw. In the event of an attack, Shylah would be ready while Chelsea was still fiddling with the chord.

"Not bad." Chelsea handed it back. "God I'm tired. Could we just rest a bit. Not sleep, that could be suicide, but rest?"

Shylah nodded. They both sank to the ground and leaned against a wide tree trunk.

"Do you think anyone's actually playing?"

Shylah shrugged nervously. "I found Demaras's body. It was in the field by the school. "

Chelsea bit back a shiver. "Suicide?"

Shylah shook her head. "Her neck was broken and her bag was empty. I doubt it."

"God…"

"I was thinking about it and the girl knew no English. She probably had no idea what was going on. Besides that she had no friends. She died alone and scared."

Chelsea shuddered. She glanced at her wristwatch. 10:45. Only two hours and fifteen minutes until they found out exactly who else was dead.

.:X:.

A/N So…short and stuff, but it's been a while a really just wanted to post it. To clear any confusion up, Samantha had a flashback to visiting her father at prison before he was executed while she was falling. (Katie pushed her in the last chapter). When she hit the water she regained consciousness.


	8. HOUR 5

Hour 5

Hour 5

Eli Kraston (Boy No. 7) leaned against the side of a dusty pew from his seat on the floor of the church and smiled. The bristles of his assigned weapon tickled his fingertips as he brushed it across his hand. A toothbrush. That was his weapon and with it he would have to defend himself and eventually venture out onto the playing field to find Victoria. He laughed quietly at his luck and the laughter reverberated through the chapel bitterly.

Eli wondered about the people who lived on the island. Did they know why they were evacuated? If they did would they come back? Eli couldn't imagine anyone coming back to worship in this same church that he cowered in and awaited his death.

Eli stood and walked up to the podium that stood directly under the stain glass window of Jesus hanging from his bloody crucifix. He grabbed the dim reading lamp from it and threw it to the ground. The bulb and glass base exploded on the floor and the light faded leaving Eli in almost complete darkness. The boy pulled out the shard of glass lodged in his hand and picked up the largest chunk of glass.

Kneeling in the wreckage of the lamp, which reflected the moonlight in broken shards, Eli began sawing into the front of the podium. He didn't stop tracing in the wood until 20 minutes later. Then he sat back to look at his work. Engraved in the wood were the words "Children died in the House of God." The words were clear and the calligraphy, a tribute to Eli's artistic skills was elaborate.

.:X:.

"WAKE UP!"

Lee Thompson (Boy No. 15) awoke with a sweat. He felt sharp nails grip his arms and he was being shake from side to side. The voice wasn't much above a whisper, but it seemed frantic. Frantic with what, he could not tell. Was the person shaking him awake happy to see him or eager to kill him? He couldn't risk it.

Without cracking open an eyelid, he snatched the handle of his assigned weapon (a medieval looking mace) and swung it so the jagged head collided with the center of his assailant's back. The hiss of pain was sharp and feminine. He felt the girl roll off of him and he grabbed his flashlight.

"Baby?"

The girl looked up and flashed him a bitter smile through the pain on her face. "So I'm thinking I should have woken you up slower?" A laugh escaped his cracked lips and Lee sank to the ground where he threw his arms around Lucy Elliot (Girl No. 6), his girlfriend.

He stroked her hair and breathed in the fresh scent of her shampoo. He smiled; it was Neutrogena from the same bottle he had spied in her shower cleaning up after the first night they had spent together.

"God, baby, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you. Are you okay?" He looked over her shoulder to view the damage. Pretty large patches of blood were bleeding through the back of her white shirt. Damn.

Lucy smiled. "I've gone through worse. Having five brothers will toughen you up, you know?" Lee returned the smile, relieved that he hadn't seriously harmed his girlfriend. "But it seems like you got a better weapon than me! A mace, huh? Doesn't get much more horror movie than that."

Lee grinned again. "Yep. I figured I was pretty lucky. What did you get stuck with?" Lucy pulled away from his embrace and rolled a bit to her left, too lazy to crawl on her knees. She returned into Lee's limited field of vision grasping a large wooden pole. It was about five feet tall, only five inches shorter than its carrier, but Lucy seemed to master it well.

"Not too bad, I guess," Lucy commented. "But I sure wouldn't have minded something a step or two up."

"Not bad at all," Lee agreed as he wrapped her in his arms. Lucy tucked her head under his chin. "God, Luce, what are we going to do?" Lucy shifted a bit in his arms. She was one of the most confident and secure people Lee knew. She was so comfortable in her own skin, but now she seemed nervous and flighty.

"Lee, promise me that you'll understand, that you'll think about it before hating me…" She rearranged herself so that she faced Lee. He could see the tears in her clear blue eyes.

"I could never hate you." The answer was confident and automatic. Lee loved Lucy. It didn't matter if she murdered his right here to save herself, he would die loving her.

"Good… Lee I think the only thing to do is… to kill." She breathed sharply and looked straight at him. "Not each other, of course, I could never kill you. Or our friends…but people. One of us has to survive. I'm fine with it being you, but I at least want to last, you know? We're tough, not bad people, but tough. No one will be eager to team up with us, you know that. And I hate this, but damn it there's no way out and one of us has to survive! I haven't gone this far to lay down with a bullet in the head. One of us is going to live and be someone. Lee, we have to."

Lee nodded. "I know, baby. I know. I hate it too, but I can't let you die and right now that's not just a matter of protecting you because you will die if anyone else is alive in three days. So they have better be dead as hell in three days so you walk off this island."

"Lee, it isn't just me living. I meant one of us. You or me. Maybe one of us will die or maybe we'll have to choose, but we aren't going to kill each other. That's for damn sure."

Tears leaked out of Lee's hazel eyes. "You know I love you, Lucy. Right?" She smiled and nodded. "We'll look after each other…I'm just so glad we found each other. And I'm not just talking about on this island. I mean in the world. Out of all the people I could have met I met you. Damn I'm lucky." Lucy took a choking breath and Lee hugged her slight frame to his and they fell asleep in the forest.

.:X:.

Jennifer Nolan (Girl No. 18) sneered for at least the fifth time at her assigned weapon. A seven-pound weight? Pathetic. When she asked what kind of weapons were available in the classroom her answer had been positive. What was it Emerson had said? That most were good. In her opinion her weapon wasn't good. In fact it sucked.

Jennifer knew she had the will to kill, and was one of the few who did. This should give her a considerable edge because she had ruled out all "internal conflicts" in the beginning, but Jennifer was un-athletic and the sucky weapon just pulled her further down. Besides this, her question would make the other players suspicious of her from the start. Befriending and then betraying was almost completely out of the question. Jennifer cursed silently at her luck. She had the will to survive but not the means.

She sighed and decided to make due. Jennifer wouldn't just sit here waiting for a bullet to the head, damn it, she was going to take charge of this game! As if an answer to her epiphany, a stray beam of light caught her eye. It was about 200 meters away. Without a second thought, Jennifer grabbed her weight and headed towards the light. This was about to get interesting….

Her breath caught and her pace slowed, as she got closer. Hiding behind the brush and balancing perfectly on the leafy ground, she could see the blurred profile of her pray. The profile was strong but the nose and lips curved. It was almost androgynous, but if Jennifer was asked she could have considered it feminine. Lunging like a tiger, Jennifer fell upon her victim. While Jennifer was usually clumsy and awkward, the game had brought out both her primitive nature and inner grace.

Lifting the weight over her head as a tomahawk, Jennifer brought it down into the head of her prey. As Shylah Davies (Girl No. 5) screamed in pain, Chelsea Franklin (Girl No. 7) arose from the ground where Jennifer had not noticed her. Chelsea gasped at the sight of a ruffled Jennifer Nolan repeatedly bashing her friend in the head with a work out weight.

It was almost comical; Jane Fonda on acid, taking out one of her back-up demonstrators. Shylah hissed in pain again and struggled to regain her thought process. Slowly it came back: Passed out. Battle Royale. Emerson. Fae. Chelsea. Kill or be killed. The large girl lifted one arm to deflect the blow of the weight from her head and grabbed her weapon: a retractable exacto-knife. Her thumb fumbled to lock the blade securely in place. As soon as she heard the metallic click, Shylah whipped up her hand and dug the blade into the side of Jennifer's cheek.

God, it was strange to watch the blood pour from the wound. In movies blood didn't spurt or spray, it merely flowed neatly and steadily. This cut was the exact opposite. A waterfall of blood poured and sprayed out of the cut. Shylah was reminded of the soap sprayed in a carwash. Besides that, the movies never showed the flesh behind deep cuts. Movie stars were clean and crisp inside, but with the fairly moderate cut, Shylah could see blood vessels popping and muscles wreathing and rippling where the exacto-knife removed her skin. Jennifer's hands flew to her face and Shylah vomited up an acidly fluid.

"Bitch…" Jennifer muttered as she wiped at her raw cheek. "Bitch!" She screamed and pounced on Shylah again. Chelsea screamed. She was a nonviolent person and she was scared out of her mind.

"Go, Chelsea!" Shylah screamed as she crawled at Jennifer. "I'll catch up with you in a bit!"

"But—I c-can't lea-"

"RUN!" Screamed Shylah. Chelsea did as was instructed, running off into the night as tears streamed down her face.

Jennifer deflected the punch of Shylah's hard fist and brought her knobby elbow into Shylah's face three consecutive times. Shylah felt two teeth shake and the fall from her gums. Jennifer was tough for such a skinny girl, she had to give her that. Ultimately Shylah used her greater weight to throw the girl off of her and roll on top of her. She landed two successful punches to Jennifer's ruined face. Splotches of red immediately formed across Jennifer's nose and forehead. Internal bleeding? Now this is what we should be learning in health class.

Jennifer snarled and rolled out from under her bigger opponent. She grabbed the discarded exacto-knife. Prefect. Launching on her haunches, Jennifer managed to pin down Shylah while sinking the blade into Shylah's shoulder. She giggled as the red sprayed almost rhythmically.

Shylah grimaced. The blood was making her sick and her throat was still scraped raw from the vomit. Besides that, Her head throbbed and face killed. Jennifer crawled up onto her stomach, placing a knee at the base of her throat. She smiled grimly and lowered the knife to Shylah's throat. Shylah gurgled slightly.

This was it. Jennifer Nolan of Kansas was fading and Jennifer Nolan, killer extraordinaire, was born. Jennifer finished drawing the blade across her prey's throat and watched as Shylah wreathed in pain as blood flew from her throat and filed her lungs. Shylah attempted to choke Jennifer in her final moments, but the blood loss and shock made her movements jerky and inaccurate and she died in a matter of seconds.

Strange, Jennifer thought, she still managed to maintain a degree of control of her body as her very lifeblood poured out. Jennifer put a tentative hand to her face. It was wet and sticky. Luckily the cut wasn't all that deep. Jennifer giggled. A weight and a exacto-knife; not bad.

In pure bliss she regarded Shylah's warm corpse again. The blood was still wet and pure looking in the moonlight. Dragging the knife's blade throw the body's wounds, Jennifer obtained a couple drops of blood. She slowly, carefully licked the blade. She smiled; wonderful. Without a moment's hesitation, Jennifer sank the knife into the girl's stomach, cutting free a chunk of flesh. It dripped blood in her thin hand as she brought it to her lips. It wasn't until Jennifer had eaten that she noticed the chainsaw Chelsea had left glinting in the moonlight. A blood-stained mouth twisted into a bite tooth grin.

.:X:.

A/N Ak!! That even grossed me out!! EWW. Bleh. So Jennifer is basically a carnivorous Katie Antrim…. UGHHHH bad image of a girl eating someone…raw! Sorry about that, lol. I guess I'm too twisted for my own good.


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